


Will's Day

by curiositydooropened



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Aged Up, Anxiety, Comic, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, present day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 04:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21350548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiositydooropened/pseuds/curiositydooropened
Summary: He caught his reflection in the full length mirror and paused to run fingertips along the scars of his abdomen. It was a daily occurrence, itching odd bits of skin that prickled, scrubbing himself in the shower, occasionally enjoying his hot tub alone, but since today was what it was, they struck different.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Will's Day

The buzzing of his cell phone against his writing desk indicated several texts coming in at one time, and Will stared at it over thick-rimmed glasses, graphite pencil poised in one hand. He regretted bringing it into his office, having done so out of habit. He’d answered e-mails from clients that morning while sipping his coffee, and he’d read the news after that. He was currently using it to broadcast ambient sounds around his studio while he sketched out his latest piece. He was annoyed at how dependent he’d become to the tiny hunk of metal and glass.

He supposed he wouldn’t have been annoyed if it wasn’t that day. That day, it came up every year, November 6th, the anniversary of the day he went missing. He tried to forget it, push it back into the recesses of his mind, lock away the horrors he’d been forced to speak about his entire life, the horrors that inspired his comic book series, made him famous. He owed his career to that day, and yet he wished it never happened.

It was also impossible to forget about that day when, like clockwork, every November 6th, he’d been inundated with texts of love from people he’d rarely spoken to since they went to college in different cities, had careers across the world, learned to distance themselves from their tortured pasts.

So, tossing his pencil gently aside, he took a deep breath, leaning back in his squeaky wooden chair, and he grabbed for his cell phone to read the latest well-wish from someone he missed who’d moved on with their life. Surprisingly, his first message was from his brother.

**Jonathan: Mom said we’re going to yours for dinner. Want me to talk her out of it?**

He loved his brother’s astute sense of awareness, but he knew there was no use. Mom would pound the door down just to see him. Especially today. He couldn’t do that to her. 

_ **No. Don’t want to upset her. Come on over around 6. Bring the family. ** _

It had been a while since he’d seen his niece and nephews. Maybe having family around was what he needed to rid his shoulders of tension and his dreams of rows of teeth and growing vines. 

On days like today, he hid his comics in a chest in the corner. It felt childish, but on Halloween, he’d rolled up his posters and pulled down his shelf of accomplishments, locking them away in the oversized trunk with his old purple wizard’s outfit and the super comm. He couldn’t have flower-shaped faces and the ghostly face of a teenaged girl staring back at him while he worked.

Another buzz in his hand startled his focus from the chest in the corner, and the device in his hand notified him of an incoming phone call from his mother. He removed his glasses, rubbing at tired eyes, and answered her call for the third time today.

“_Will_?”

“Hi, mom,” he sighed. The room around him went quiet from the lack of music, and there was the faint buzz of static in his ear, sending chills down his neck. His mom’s voice went in and out of the receiver. “Mom?” He felt frantic. He pushed off from his chair.

“Will, honey, can you hear me?”

“Mom, where are you?”

“Sorry, we’re at the grocery store. I never get any damn service in here.”

His breathing regulated, relief coursing through him. So it was going to be like that today. He sighed, exiting his office to find the pill cabinet above the kitchen sink. “What’s up?” He asked over the phone, filling a glass of water.

“Jonathan texted and said he’s bringing Nancy and the kids. Mike and El are coming too, is that okay?”

He sighed. He supposed he couldn’t avoid seeing his adopted siblings either, even though their faces haunted his dreams worse than the others. Their relationship had been strained in the past few years, not wanting their stories told as detailed in his comics. He understood it was for El’s safety, but they had to understand his need to tell his truth, his full truth, even if the general public thought it was a brilliant work of science fiction. “Of course. The more the merrier.” Did she want to invite Dustin and Lucas too?

“Is there anything you want us to pick up at the store? Hop’s thinking prime rib.”

“Sounds great, mom, as long as he’s cooking it.”

“You know I don’t let your mom cook anything,” Hop yelled over the noise of the store. “Don’t want to burn your nice house down.” Lovely, she’d dialed him on speaker phone at the grocery store. He supposed he should be grateful it wasn’t a video chat.

“Good call, Hop,” he grit his teeth, downing his dosage of anxiety medication and chugging water to wash them down. 

“Listen, sweetie, we’ve got to go. We’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay, love you.”

“Love you too.” Click.

Once again, his house was drowned in silence. He hit play on his music and waltzed back into the office. The trunk continued to stare from the corner as he hunched back over his work, throwing his glasses on to sketch small details for his latest client. Oftentimes, he’d do artwork for several ghostwritten comics. He did an issue of X-Men once, which had been his ultimate dream. Getting the news of that was probably the best day of his life. He didn’t have anything else to compare it to, no weddings, no babies.

He glanced upward at the picture of his family rooted to his shelf next to a myriad of awards. His mom and Hopper took up the center, one massive and one tiny, hands intertwined on her shoulder. Mike and Eleven were to the left, cradled in each other’s arms with beaming faces. Jonathan and Nancy were clutching at her swollen stomach. Their other two kids made funny faces at the camera, striking goofy poses. Will was in the back, a half-hearted smile on his face, wondering when he’d have a partner to show the family. That was ten years ago, before Teddy had been born. 

Two hours into his work, desk vibrations signaled a new message. He stretched his hands, cracking at tired knuckles. He’d made some significant headway on his drawing, allowing his art to distract from the day or the time or even the real world around him. He supposed that’s why he’d turned to art in the first place, as a distraction.

Now, grappling for his phone, he glanced to see the familiar name pop up with a photo.

**Dustin: Look who I stumbled upon! Miss you, buddy!**

Dustin’s curls had been cropped short and tight, but he had the same infectious smile, one arm cocked around the shoulders of an aged Steve Harrington. The older man still had the hair, though it was graying significantly, and wrinkles had formed around his brown eyes. The selfie was cropped too tight for Will to make out a location, and he wondered if Dustin had gone to visit Hawkins that week, or perhaps Steve was in DC. He realized he wasn’t sure where Steve was living now, what he’d done with his life. 

_ **Blast from the past. Miss you too. Hope they haven’t kicked you out of Washington yet.** _

The response came quicker than he anticipated. 

**Dustin: I would say ‘never’, but with this administration, who the hell knows? Hope Chicago’s treating you well. Any good comics to watch out for?**

Dustin always was his biggest fan. Although he didn’t appreciate the portrayal of the loud-mouthed, chubby kid, Will knew Dustin was ecstatic to be the star of a comic book. They always geeked out together about X-Men among other things. They’d drifted apart of the years when Dustin moved away and had a family, but they’d always have long nights perched under Cerebro, making calls to Salt Lake City. 

_ **New volume closer to Christmas. I’m actually working on something for DarkHorse at the moment. ** _

**Dustin: Awesome, man. I’ve gotta head back to work. Maybe I’ll call you later.**

Will knew he wouldn’t hear from him again until his birthday in March, except for the family picture Christmas card, Dustin’s wife, Jody, will send in December. He had a growing pile stashed in one of his drawers, ready to pull out in case any of his friends visited. They never did.

He paused his work to eat some lunch, a haphazard egg salad sandwich that had somehow dribbled down the front of his t-shirt. He’d have to change before mom showed up or she’d worry he wasn’t taking care of himself. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, setting his phone down on the couch-side table, and walked down the hall to his bedroom. He pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it into the laundry pile, auto-walking into his oversized closet for something more patterned, in case he spilled his snack later. He didn’t want to change twice.

He caught his reflection in the full length mirror and paused to run fingertips along the scars of his abdomen. It was a daily occurrence, itching odd bits of skin that prickled, scrubbing himself in the shower, occasionally enjoying his hot tub alone, but since today was what it was, they struck different. 

He’d had a few scars from his first trip to the upside down, mainly under his jaw, from where that feeding tube had suction cupped to his face. He had a burn scar in his side from where Nancy prodded him with a white hot iron fire poker, Thanks Nance. He had several scars on his knees from glass shards on the floor of Starcourt Mall and a burn on his hand from a mis-placed firework fuse. All of these injuries paled in comparison to the long claw mark leading from the collar bone to his navel. It had been over thirty years, but he could still feel the frigid sting, could still see the open mouth, rows of teeth, playing with its food. 

The loud ring of his phone down the hall startled him back to reality, and he threw on a nearby black t-shirt, scurrying past any mirrors until he reached his phone. **MADMAX** flashed on the screen. He sighed and clicked to answer.

“Hey,” he mumbled.

“Today’s the day, right?” Ah, yes, the ever-tactic Maxine.

“Yeah,” he sighed, crashing back into his leather sofa. 

“How’s Joyce handling it?”

“Same as every year. The whole family’s coming for dinner.”

“Well that’ll be nice. Wish I was there.”

“Wish you were too.” 

They’d had an unexpected, and somewhat tedious, relationship after Billy died. Max asked Will a lot of prying and personal questions, but he understood she just wanted to know what her brother had felt, how he couldn’t have been in control of his body when he carried all of those people to their deaths. Will could give her that feeling, explain what Billy was experiencing. 

They developed a friendship beyond that, discussing comic books. Max taught him how to skate board and ace arcade games. For a while into puberty, Will thought Max could be the one. She and Lucas had broken up for good, and Will knew he loved her, knew he got along with her better than almost everyone in the group. She knew what it felt like to be an outsider. She’d experienced trauma in ways the others would never understand.

They shared other fundamental qualities as well, they learned the closer they got, such as deadbeat dads and protective older brothers. Neil was a lot worse than Lonnie, and Max spent nights without Billy asking God why the Mind Flayer didn’t take Neil instead. Her prayers were answered the following year.

“Are you moping today or being productive?” Max asked, in the way Will was sure she’d ask her children on a bad day of classes. Were they in college now?

“A little of both,” he chuckled. “What about you?”

“You know me, always working. I’m on call actually, so I might have to go soon. But I wanted to make sure you were you know... not missing.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Tell Joyce and the family hi.”

“Will do.”

“Love you, Zombie Boy.”

“Love you, Max.”

The house fell silent once more.

At promptly six o’clock, a ring at the door signaled the first group of family members. Will turned the volume down on the Jonathan-centric playlist he chose and padded toward the door, socks catching slightly on the carpet in the entry way. He toyed with a few smiles before settling for the least-extreme and opened the door to greet his brother and sister-in-law.

“Hi, how are you?” Nancy asked, promptly kissing both cheeks before shoving past him to put her fruit salad in the fridge.

“Great,” he lied. “How are you guys?”

Teddy stood in front of Jonathan, staring at the device in his hand instead of greeting his uncle, and Will moved out of the way to let them in as well.

“We’re good, right Teddy?”

The ten-year-old harrumphed in agreement. Will glanced over his shoulder to see he was playing a game about the living dead, how apt. 

“What’ve you been up to today?” Jonathan asked, waltzing into the kitchen behind his wife to find a bottle of scotch. He always knew where Will hid his favorite stash. He pulled two, “three?” “I have to drive”, two glass tumblers from the cabinet and poured a glass for them each.

“Just working on this project for DarkHorse.” Will sighed, taking the beverage from his brother.

“That’s right, the anti-hero one, right?”

“Yeah. Nancy, can I offer you anything?”

She waved him off. “Teddy, want a coke?”

The kid made a noise that sounded like “uh” in agreement, and Nancy pulled two sodas from the fridge, popping the tabs.

“What should we toast to?” Jonathan grinned, holding his glass up to cheers. “To... finding you?”

Will made a face. “To mom?”

“I like that,” Jonathan smirked. “To our crazy ass mom.”

Will didn’t like the addition, but he clinked glasses anyway. Nancy threw her can in absentmindedly and the three of them took a long swig before Nancy flittered back to the living room. The whisky burned its way down to a warm pocket just below his rib cage. It sat there, ruminating. He wondered if he’d need more anxiety medication to survive the night. 

The doorbell rang again. Nancy opened it, and around the corner he heard the chirps and cries of greetings that signaled the arrival of mom and Hop and Mike and Eleven. He cursed under his breath.

“Oh, Bea’s running late, by the way. Nancy think she might have a boyfriend and that idea makes me want to die. So he might come too, hope that’s okay.” Jonathan threw in as an aside.

Will shrugged. “That’s fine, whatever. What about Mickey?”

“Oh, Mick’s at school. You’ll probably see him on Thanksgiving.”

“Right, okay.” Mickey was probably Will’s favorite nephew. He grew up fascinated about Will’s comics and was going to school to be a writer himself. They’d grown distance in the past couple of years, but Will held a fondness unmatched in the boy’s siblings, although he obviously loved them too.

“_Will_?” Joyce called from the living room. The chatter had grown tenfold in the other room, and Will figured there was no use trying to avoid it any longer. He took another full gulp of his drink before tip-toeing to greet his house guests.

“Hey, mom-“ Immediately, he’d been crushed in a rib breaking embrace from his mother, who kissed at his cheek and commented on his appearance. “Okay, mom, okay. Missed you too.” Since last Saturday. He chuckled, gently pushing the woman away, and she stepped back to reveal Hopper’s uncomfortable stance.

“Son,” he held a hand out to shake and Will returned the awkward gesture. They’d been through so much together, he and his stepfather, but Hopper never quite fell into the fatherly role as he had with Eleven. He was protective sure, and caring. He was understanding and kind and strong, and he took amazing care of Joyce in their old age, but he was always a little distant. Will supposed Russia did that to him, and New York before that, and Vietnam before that, and hell, probably Hawkins before that.

“Where’d you get that whisky?” Hopper asked, a familiar twinkle in his eye, alleviating the tension between them.

“Jonathan’s in the kitchen,” Will laughed.

“Oh, Jonathan!” Mom called, leading her husband into the next room.

Before Will could process what was happening, a pair of slender arms had been thrown around his neck, and a soft bosom heated his chest. “Hi, brother,” Eleven sighed into his ear, sending shivers down his spine. With his free hand, he knelt into the embrace, squeezing her around the middle. He buried his face in chocolate curls and breathed her in. This wasn’t the greeting he was expecting from her, but he was glad it was the one she’d gone with.

She pulled away, holding him at arm’s length, and tears had sprung in her brown eyes. 

“Don’t do that,” he groaned, attempting a grimaced smile. “I’m fine, really.” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” she laughed, waving away tears. “I’ve just been thinking about you all day, and I love you is all.”

“I love you too, freak,” he smiled, kicking at her sneakered foot. “Shoes off at the door though.”

She swatted at him, but retreated to the door to pull off her shoes, trailing November soil and leaves with her. He made a mental note to vacuum once everyone had left. 

“Hey,” came a timid throat clear as Mike stepped forward from his spot watching Teddy play video games. 

“Hey,” Will responded. 

This was more of the greeting he had expected. He hadn’t spoken to Mike in months, and he was shocked he even agreed to show up. They’d had a fight during the latest issue release, when Mike read the manuscript and all of the details about Eleven’s past. El was sour too, a little overwhelmed, but Mike, who always had El’s well-being in mind, threw a fit. He threw words too, so many hurtful words, words that still stung as Will looked at him now.

He was the same Mike Wheeler he’d always been, too tall, gangly, freckled. Only now his unkempt hair was speckled with grey and glasses round his dark eyes turning his furrowed brow into the spitting image of ole Ted Wheeler, though he didn’t have kids of his own to ignore. 

“I’m going to get a drink,” Mike sighed, peeling off toward the bustling sounds of the kitchen.

“Michael!” Nancy hissed, sounding eerily like Karen scolding down the basement stairs.

Will closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out. He definitely needed his pills.

El came over and linked her arm with his, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

“You too,” he smiled softly when she pulled his drink from his hand to take a swig.

“How are you?”

“Good.”

“How are you _today_ though?”

He was getting frustrated of the question, wanting desperately for today to be like any other day. “I’m _good_.”

She cocked a knowing eyebrow behind his tipped glass. 

“I got a text from Dustin today. I guess Steve was in DC. Max called. It was a good day.”

El nodded, seemingly satisfied with his response, and sandwiched her palm into his. “Let’s join the party.” Despite his groan of protest, she tugged him toward the kitchen, leaving Teddy in the living room with his video game. Jonathan found the controls to crank the music.

Hopper’s prime rib was delicious, as usual, and the alcohol and food had the family in a near coma scattered around Will’s living room furniture. Hopper had moseyed off to his favorite armchair, pulling the lever to recline, snoring almost immediately. Joyce lovingly posted herself on the mantle at his feet, warming herself on the wood burning fire. 

Teddy’s eyes hadn’t left his phone the entire meal, much to Nancy’s chagrin, and after dinner, he somehow found his way back to the couch to continue his game. Bea stumbled in midway through the meal, brown hair a mess and neck wrapped dutifully in an oversized scarf to hide a hickey. Nancy and her had quite the fight in the entryway while everyone listened on with knowing smirks. After the meal, she found herself posted up next to Teddy, the two of them kicking ankles and making annoyed faces. They truly were the spitting image of Nancy and Mike.

“So, Bea, Jonathan tells me you’re taking the year off school?” El started, tucking herself into Mike on the opposing love seat. 

“Yeah,” Bea chewed on the inside of her cheek, anxiously eyeing her mother. “I just don’t know what I want to do yet, so why waste the money?”

“It’s not a waste-“ Nancy started, but Jonathan stopped her with a hand to the knee and a kiss on the cheek.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Will challenged, alcohol lighting the fire within him like a hot poker to his side. “I mean, I didn’t go to college and look at me now.” He gestured to the grand house around them, empty except for special holidays like this one, the anniversary of the time he was kidnapped by an inter dimensional creature. 

“Yeah, look at you now,” Mike spat from beside Eleven, his eyes narrowed behind thick glasses. 

“Mike, not now,” Eleven wrapped her arm around her husband’s wrist. 

“Yeah, Mike, not now,” Will spat. “I’m fragile today. Didn’t you hear? Dustin did, Max did. You’re all here for a reason!” He was standing now, he didn’t know when that happened. 

Mike stood too, pushing off from his seat. “Yeah, we get it, Will. You’ve been fragile for the last thirty years. Not too fragile to compromise the rest of us, but at least you’re doing _fucking_ better.”

“Michael!” Eleven and Nancy chided in unison, but Hopper had beat them to it, fisting each of the boys on the back collar like they were thirteen again. 

“Alright you two, let’s take a walk.” 

“Whoa, what’s up with them?” Will heard Teddy pipe up, the first real word he’d said all night, as he and Mike were lead out of the room.

Hopper had surprising brute strength for a nearly 70-year-old, and maybe it was the alcohol lingering between the two younger men that had them stumbling into Will’s office. “Now, stay in here and talk about it like men, or don’t. I don’t give a shit. I just don’t need you upsetting your mother. Not today.” Hopper prodded at Will’s chest before backing out of the room and slamming the door.

Will ran a hand through a mop of hair, huffing out a breath of frustration. 

Mike paced the room slowly, carefully taking in the shelved walls, stopping at the family portrait above Will’s drawing desk. Beside it was an empty spot where Will’s portrait of “the Party” would have sat, the frame now tucked safely into the trunk in the corner. 

“I’m sorry, okay,” he started, slowly. “You’re right. You’ve always been right. I ‘compromised’ Eleven, or whatever you want to call it, and it’s shitty, and I’m sorry. My company wanted more storyline, more science fiction...”

“Shut up, man,” Mike scoffed. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done, it’s published. We’re fine. I Just wish you had... I don’t know, asked us first. Or drudged some more of your own trauma.”

“Oh believe me, that shit’s endless. My publishers wanted something more interesting than Will the Wise.” He rolled his eyes, staring into the blank space beside Mike’s arm. 

“What’s this?” Mike asked after a long silence, pointing to the nearly complete sketch on the table. He had one hand in his pocket, and Will knew it was clenching and unclenching into a fist around his car keys.

“It’s a comic I’m working on. It’s about this girl who is more of an antihero. She fights this vigilante guy kind of like Indiana Jones.”

“She looks pretty cool,” Mike mused softly.

“Thanks,” Will felt his cheeks warm at the unexpected compliment. He’d always struggled with drawing women, refusing to objectify them the way comics of their past had. He always saw woman as strong, mighty beings, like his mom. 

“Listen,” Mike turned to him finally, leaning his lanky frame against the drawing table. It tilted slightly, graphite pencil rolling to the ground. “I’m sorry I’ve been a dick. I know you didn’t mean harm. You never do. These past few years have just been... Getting old is bullshit.”

Will knew what he meant. It’d never been easy for them. In their late twenties, they struggled to conceive. In their thirties, they spent years in court trying to pass legislation to stop the funding of projects such as those she’d been apart of. In their forties, her hormones caused her powers to go haywire. She’d accidentally set their home aflame. They’d been through enough. 

“It really is,” Will sighed. 

“I should probably take her home. She gets emotional when she’s tired.” 

Will laughed dryly. “Yeah, I better say goodbye to mom and Hop.” 

“Should we go out holding hands?”

Will felt the familiar lump in his throat, and he blew out a sort of snort in protest. Mike slapped him on the back and exited the room first. He’d never told anyone but Max about his feelings for Mike, probably never would. They’d changed by now, melded into the brotherly love they shared in elementary school, but for a while, a long while, Will looked at him differently. 

He’d pushed the thoughts away, thwarted by constant name-calling from his dad and classmates. He thought he was in love with Princess Leia, thought he was in love with Max. It wasn’t until he tried to kiss Max, planted a big one on her that she corrected him, holding him at arms length to tell him the truth about himself. 

He wasn’t sure how she knew, when he himself didn’t even know, couldn’t be. She said Billy had been into guys, back in California, that he was the reason they had to move. He and Will had more in common than a name and a shit dad and a possession. She said she saw Billy with a boyfriend once, and it was the happiest he’d been. She said it was the same way Will looked at Mike.

Mike didn’t hug Will goodbye that night, but Eleven did, bleary eyed and warm. She pressed a kiss to his forehead on tip toe and told him to call her tomorrow. He probably wouldn’t. Jonathan was next, a tight hug and a firm slap on the back. Nancy kissed his cheeks again while ushering Teddy to the car. 

“Bye, Uncle Will, thanks for having us over,” Bea threw an arm around his neck. She smelled like Nancy in high school, gun powder and cigarettes. 

He grinned. “Anytime, Bea. Come over anytime you need to hide out from your parents.”

“Bea!” Nancy called from the driveway.

“Thanks,” Bea smiled, rushing out the door toward her own clunker of a car. 

Last was Mom and Hop. Hopper gave the awkward handshake again before bursting into the snow to start the car, heating it up for mom. She turned to Will with tears in her eyes that mirrored El’s, and Will felt the lump growing in his throat. 

“Mom,” he groaned.

“I know, honey, I know. I just love you, and I’m so proud of you.”

It was somehow harder to see an elderly woman tear up. She’d aged well, but remained the same perfect mom shape to hold. She wore the same things she wore in 1983, a flannel layered over a dark t-shirt, and her leather jacket smelled of Hop’s cigarettes even though the two of them quit smoking years ago. It was the same smell she had the morning he said goodbye to her before heading to the Wheeler’s for a campaign of D&D. It was the same smell he came home to in a panic, searching for his mom and Jonathan with that thing hot on his heels.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair, taking one last breath of her before composing himself and holding her at arms length. “Better not keep Hop waiting. Call me tomorrow?”

“Always,” she kissed his cheek before carefully stepping across the drive to Hopper’s car. Will waved to her as she got in, seeing her blow a kiss from behind the passenger side window.

The house was quiet, too quiet, only the crackling of the fire keeping time with the song playing at low volumes. Will had poured himself a night cap, the last of the bottle, and was sunken into the brown leather of his sofa. 

The familiar guitar riffs of an old haunt chimed over the sound system, and despite the tickle at the back of his neck, he reached over to turn up the volume. The oversized house was suddenly drowned in the familiar British lyrics of The Clash. He nodded his head to the tune, shaggy hair covering his eyes, alcohol warming his face. 

No lights flickered, no monster chased him. His mom was safe at home, Jonathan probably snug in his bed with his beautiful wife. Will chased his whisky with music and the taste of childhood trauma. 

His eyelids felt heavy, chest heated with exhaustion, and he thought he might fall asleep there with his black t-shirt covering the scars on his chest and the scary things locked away in a trunk in his office. 

A buzz on his rib cage brought his attention to a new message, and he opened it with a fond smile. 

**Lucas: Drove past the Quarry today, and your old house. They haven’t changed a bit.**

** _Sounds like Hawkins._ **

**Lucas: You’re not wrong. Hey, me and kids are coming to Chicago to visit Erica for Thanksgiving. Mind if we stop by?**

Will smiled. He hadn’t seen Lucas in years.

**Lucas: Up for a round of D&D?**

_ **Stop in whenever. My door’s always open.** _

Will set his phone on the couch-side table and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off. He had no demogorgons to fear, no razor sharp claws to cut him in the night, no army of the living dead knocking on his door, just a trunk full of memories and a family to check in on him at his time of need. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Excited to be posting in the Stranger Things fandom. This is my take on Stranger Things day. I really enjoy the idea of these characters in present day, aged up, and miserable. I've written many other fanfictions for these amazing characters, but I've never posted on this platform before. I'm so excited to talk to everyone and put effort into supporting my favorite authors on here. Please follow me on tumblr under the same handle. xo


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